In the Arms of an Angel
by Julianne envy U
Summary: Angel/Collins. Their hardships are alleviated by the love and support of their friends. All Bohemians included! Rated T for language and violence. Currently Abandoned Fic - To Be Continued.
1. A Night of Pain

**A/N: This is my first RENT fiction and I hope to do justice to the amazing work of Larson. Hope it will be enjoyable for you all! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; The amazing Larson owns it all.**

"Hey, Marky! Come over here!" Maureen shouted. Mark, who was working diligently on reloading his camera, looked up with a scowl. "Why?" he groaned. He wasn't in the mood to put up with her nagging and teasing; he wanted to work on his film.

"Just come here!" she whined. He groaned, mumbled something incoherently, and slowly sauntered over to her.

"What do you want, Mo?" he asked in an irritated tone. She stifled a laugh and pointed toward the ratty couch on the other side of the room. Perched awkwardly on the couch, Angel and Collins were committing a heated, yet sweet, make-out session. Cringing, Mark turned back toward Maureen and gave her his signature 'what the hell' glare.

She slapped his arm playfully and said, "you've gotta admit it's cute, pookie." She giggled and pulled him into the chair with her.

"I told you not to call me that," he growled. His attempt to frighten her failed. He never had been good at intimidating anyone; let alone his friends.

"Oh, don't be such a grouch, pookie!" she cooed. He rolled his eyes and stood up from her lap in the chair. Having lost her interest in pestering Mark, Maureen faced the couple on the couch and laughed again. She covered her mouth in an attempt to remain oblivious.

Hearing her poorly concealed laughter, Angel and Collins promptly drew away from each other and faced Maureen. "Are we bothering you, sweetie?" Angel asked politely. She had a sparkle of enthusiasm in her eyes. Collins just pouted innocently.

Failing to stifle her giggles, she simply said, "Oh no! I think it's adorable!" Unable to contain his urges, Collins whispered, "Come back, baby," and quickly pulled Angel back onto his lap. She squealed with delight and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Where were we, baby?" he crooned. "Here," she whispered as she pulled him into a delicate, yet passionate kiss.

Returning to his camera, Mark couldn't help himself. Picking up the camera, he snuck up to the preoccupied couple and began to film them; he left off the narration for fear of being caught. _"This ought to be priceless!"_ he thought to himself. As he filmed from various angles, he silently cursed his camera for not being able to record sound; their lovey dovey comments between one another were simply hilarious.

While displaying a toothy grin, Mark mentally debated whether or not he would let them in on the fact that he was filming them; knowing that they were on 'candid camera' had always resulted in a few outrageously funny facial expressions. He decided against it when he noticed that his camera had stopped.

"Damn," he mumbled to himself. He intended to set it down for a moment while he grabbed a new reel of film, but being a klutz as usual, he ended up dropping the clunky camera onto his foot where it crashed noisily onto the floor.

"Shit!" he screamed, which resulted in several shocked stares in his direction.

Angel noticed the camera on the floor and wittily put two-and-two together.

"Were you filming us, Mark?" she asked with an incredulous look on her face.

"Uhh…" he began, "of course not, Angel. Why would I do that?" He giggled nervously.

Roger, appearing from the loft door, laughed mockingly. "Mark, you could very well be the worst liar in the state of New York. Hell, you're probably the worst liar in the world!" The group laughed riotously as Mark's face turned various shades of red.

As Collins stood up, he executed a typical _tsk-tsk_.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" he asked with a grin. "Just because we're so hot over here and the fact that you're jealous…" Mark cut him off.

"Jealous?!" he snorted, "you wish!"

Everyone could see through Mark's bravado as his face set in an oddly splotched scarlet.

"Calm down, man," Roger began, "you know we were just messing with you."

Mimi, having appeared from the fire escape, pounded loudly on the window pane. Turning his attention toward the loud banging, Roger walked over to let her in.

"Why the hell is the window locked?" she demanded angrily. Everybody knew it was her usual route into the loft, so the window was very rarely locked.

Roger accused Mark with a nonchalant hand gesture. Everyone could hear Mark growling under his breath.

"Aww, Marky, calm down baby," Maureen called, "you know we love you!" He just sighed and turned back to his camera.

From across the room, Joanne rolled her eyes.

Angel quickly bounced up from her seat and hugged Mimi.

"Hola, chica!" she greeted warmly.

"Hey, Angel!" she returned sweetly. It was always a plus to see her best friend after a long day of work. Just being around Angel lifted her spirits no matter how bad her day had been.

Angel was clad in her usual black wig, a sparkling blue tank top with a fuzzy black overcoat, and her white flower skirt. She was also wearing her favorite pink tights, but her stiletto heels were lying forgotten on the floor. She looked stunning, and Mimi certainly noticed.

"Oh, chica, is this the outfit you bought with Collins today?" she asked excitedly.

Giggling, Angel nodded. "Well, only half of it," she said. "I was too tired to try and find a pair of tights to match the new skirt." Collins chuckled.

"I thought it matched these just fine, Angelcake." He ran his hand along her thigh and she giggled playfully.

"You have no sense of fashion, Thomas," she acknowledged his clothing, "and this is a perfect example!"

Unable to hold back, Collins and Angel began to chuckle along with the rest of the Bohemians.

Collins smiled warmly at his beautiful Latino. _"She couldn't be more perfect"_ he thought to himself. An angel indeed.

…………………………………………………………..

After they had said their goodbyes, Collins and Angel left the loft with their hands entwined. It was about 2 a.m. and they really needed to rest up for the next day. It wasn't a long walk to their apartment; it was only a few blocks away, but walking the New York streets at night always sent waves of unease through them.

Angel shuddered a bit from the frigid air. "It's cold."

Collins pulled her against his side as they continued to walk. "I'll keep you warm, Angelcake." He grinned and she giggled sweetly. "I love you, honey," she said as he pulled her towards him for a kiss.

They stopped walking, if only for a moment, to look lovingly into each other's eyes when they heard a frightening cackle from behind them. Quickly pulling out of their embrace, they faced a brawny drunkard who was glaring at them with a malicious grin.

"Well, well, well," he sneered. "Look what I've found!" He raised his oversized arm and pointed a finger towards them.

"A couple of fucking fags!" He slurred on his speech, which made him all the more frightening. He reeked of alcohol and, to their disgust, urine.

"Look, man, we don't want any trouble." Collins stammered to get the words out clearly as he pulled Angel tightly against his body. Angel was whimpering in fear.

"It doesn't matter what you want, fag. All that matters is what you deserve!" He quickly pulled a switchblade from his back pocket and held it up; he was glaring intently at Angel. Her eyes widened in terror and Collins pulled her behind himself to act as a barricade.

"Please," she whimpered, "please leave us alone." She was crying now and the man curled his lips up into a vicious grin. Collins was outraged at this atrocity's pleasure in threatening Angel…his angel.

"Back off, man!" he snarled protectively. He wouldn't let this punk get what he wanted. He would make this son of a bitch pay.

Without warning, the man sprung forward and slashed at Collins.

Instinctively moving away from the attack, Collins targeted and kicked a heavy blow to the man's stomach. It barely fazed the attacker; however, it left Collins with a shattered ankle.

"Damn!" he howled as he grabbed for his broken ankle. He hissed in pain when all of a sudden, a high-pitched squeal of agony erupted from behind him.

Horrified, he turned to discover the most devastating thing he could ever imagine; Angel was clutching her mid-section with the most wretched look of pain etched onto her face. She crumpled down onto the cold cement and became motionless. Collins could plainly see a pool of blood forming around her still form; she had been stabbed multiple times in the chest.

The man had a black eye and a profusely bleeding nose; the work of Angel's stiletto heels. He smirked proudly at his work and spat directly onto Angel's face.

"That'll teach your kind," he said.

He quickly bounded off, leaving a broken man behind who cradled his dying lover in his arms.

**Review? Please? I need to know if I should continue with this. If anybody seems OOC, let me know! If I'm making grammatical errors, please, let me know! If something is downright foul, please give me a heads-up so I can fix it! I feel like I'm switching topics too quickly and that the scenes are a bit too short…feedback appreciated! Thanks! hugs and Angel kisses **


	2. The Good Samaritans?

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; The amazing Larson owns it all.**

Collins knelt in a large pool of blood as he cradled his wounded lover. He was desperately trying to apply pressure onto Angel's most severe wound to stop the bleeding; it was to no avail.

"Angel!" he choked out. "Hold on, baby…don't leave me." He trembled from the effort of holding back his tears. He needed to be brave for her and to find help. He couldn't lose his angel. He began repositioning himself to hold her head up higher. In the process, he ended up twisting his broken ankle; he didn't care. He had to keep Angel breathing. The trembling rise and fall of her chest was all the hope he had left.

He could tell that she was unconscious and prayed that she did not have a concussion. "Dear God…" he moaned to himself. "Don't take her away from me…please." His expression was pained when he realized he could lose her. He couldn't stand the thought.

He maniacally looked back and forth in hopes of finding help. That was when he saw a young couple walking around the corner on the other side of the street.

"Help!" he shouted. They stopped walking and turned towards the place where they thought they heard the plea. He was waving his free arm frantically in order for them to catch a glimpse of him. They gaped when they saw Collins and his blood-stained lover.

"Oh my God!" the woman screamed. She grabbed the hand of the man who was with her and quickly dragged him across the street. She looked suspiciously young to be hanging out with this older-looking man, but Collins had no reason to be judgmental; especially now.

"What happened to her?" she asked, horrified. She had already begun digging through her purse for what Collins guessed would be her cell phone. The man was simply standing there; glancing from Angel to the woman with a dumbfounded expression plastered upon his face.

Collins was finally sobbing now. He was still clutching helplessly at her stab wounds. "T-this punk came a-and h-he..." he was choking up on his tears.

"Did he rob you?" the man finally asked.

"N-no…" Collins responded. "He attacked us b-because of…" he couldn't finish. He whimpered and stroked Angel's blood-stained wig. He pushed stray strands away from her face in a fruitless attempt to help her breathe better.

He could feel her body growing weaker in his arms. He cringed when she suddenly started vehemently coughing up blood.

"Oh my God, Angel!" he wailed. Her body was trembling severely and he was trying with all his might to hold her still. He was afraid she would kill herself from this convulsive movement. The man, realizing what was happening, suddenly got down onto his knees and helped Collins restrain her.

"She's got blood in her lungs," he said in a worried tone. "That could kill her if it isn't removed soon."

He turned to face Collins, but he was still absentmindedly trying to keep his lover from hurting herself further.

"Tell them to get here fast, Sherry!" he yelled to the woman. She was on the phone and screamed, "they're almost here, dear! Hold on, girl…hold on." She was crying now.

Collins felt a huge wave of gratitude sweep over him. His angel had a chance. _"Thank you, God, for these good Samaritans,"_ he silently prayed.

"Wait…wh-what is this?" the man suddenly questioned. He had pulled back and had a disgusted look on his face.

"What?" Collins asked. He was almost too afraid to know the answer.

"Is this a…man?" he asked with a snort.

The woman, Sherry, suddenly looked over at them. Apparently she had heard his question.

Collins silently cursed himself for actually believing that nobody would notice. He prayed that their sympathy would be greater than their shallow outlook on people such as Angel.

"Y-yes…" he whispered. The expression on his face could easily be mistaken as that of a kicked puppy. His eyes were brimmed with fresh tears.

"Oh, God," the man sneered. He quickly stood up and took a few steps back. The woman had promptly dropped her phone as she stared daggers at Angel…as if she needed more sharp objects targeted at her.

"P-please…" Collins whispered. _"Oh no, no, no! Don't leave…help her"_ he silently pleaded.

"What are you? His boyfriend or something?" the man asked. He had no expression on his face.

Collins, who was almost completely distraught, nodded. Angel had begun trembling again and he once again tried to restrain her. A small whimper escaped from her lips.

Collins gently rubbed his thumb across her forehead in a hopeless attempt to ease her pain.

The loud shrill of sirens echoed from the distance. Their recurring whine meant nothing to Collins. It was as if time itself had stopped and the only thing with any sense of hope or life was the repetitive shrill headed towards them.

The man sighed. "Look. I'm sorry about your…friend," he gestured toward Angel, "but it's against my principles." He glanced awkwardly at Angel.

"I just can't do it, sir." He nodded almost apologetically and turned to face Sherry. "Get your phone…" he pointed toward it.

She quickly grabbed it and turned around to leave. She pulled into the man's arms. "I can't believe I wanted that…that THING to live," she whispered. The man nodded in agreement. "An abomination."

A sharp pain struck Collins' heart. They didn't care if she died…just because she was different.

The sirens were growing louder and Collins could distinguish a faint flash of lights.

As he stroked his lover's hair and caressed her face, he silently cursed the hell they were going through.

His beautiful lover was slowly dying in his arms. His throat felt raw from the efforts of holding back his tears. Angel's eyes suddenly fluttered open; they were distant and dull.

"C-Collins?" she tried to say. Her voice was wavering and cracked.

"Oh, Angel!" he gasped. He repositioned her so that she could see his face more clearly. Unable to control himself, he placed a shaky kiss on her trembling lips. The tears were streaming down his cheeks as he smiled sadly at her.

"I…I…" she started to say. She coughed and gasped for air. Collins placed a finger on her lips.

"Shh. Rest, Angelcake. It will be okay soon. You'll see." He lovingly caressed her cheek and smiled again.

"It…hurts." She shut her eyes and her head fell back.

"A-Angel?" he cried. "Angel?!" He was close to panic when he noticed the unsteady rise and fall of her chest.

"Hold on, Angel," he choked out. He kissed her forehead and wiped her sweaty brow with his sleeve.

After a few agonizing moments, which felt like long hours to Collins, the ambulance finally arrived. Several EMTs quickly hopped out of the ambulance and rolled a stretcher towards Angel.

Collins willingly allowed them to pull her onto the stretcher.

"You the boyfriend?" a younger EMT asked.

Collins nodded and began to stand up; however, his ankle gave way beneath him. "Shit!" he howled as he fell face-first onto the pavement.

"He has a broken ankle," one of the EMTs said matter-of-factly.

"Get him a brace," another said.

"Don't worry about me!" Collins shouted. "Help her!"

He tried to stand again and painfully hobbled over to the ambulance. With all the strength he could gather, he hopped up onto the vehicle, with the help of an EMT that was on board, and took his respective spot next to the head of Angel's stretcher. He was crying once again.

The EMTs had cut the sleeves of her jacket and were attaching an IV. Collins winced. He knew she hated needles.

"We're going to have to take off her shirt to treat the wounds. It's the only way."

Collins, afraid of what would happen, hesitated.

"Can I borrow a phone?" he asked desperately.

A bit confused, an EMT nodded and handed him a cell phone.

Collins grabbed the phone, nodded to the EMT who was standing next to Angel, and quickly dialed.

The EMT carefully cut around Angel's shirt, pulled it open, and gasped.

"Is this a MAN?!" he shouted in shock.

The EMTs all turned towards Collins with various forms of confused expressions plastered upon their faces.

'_Speeeeak'_

"For the love of God, pick up the damn phone!!"

**Sorry for taking forever with this. I had some computer troubles. I'm trying to make these chapters longer…the next one SHOULD be longer. Reviews greatly appreciated!**


	3. What's going on?

**Okay, wow. It's taken me ages to actually update this sucker. Blame writer's block and school! Hope this chapter is decent. I know it's incredibly short, but I'm still trying to find out where exactly I'm going to take this story. I'm no superior at this sort of thing. Constructive comments are appreciated! There will be heaping piles of Angel and Collins goodness in the next chapter, I promise!**

Mark's brows furrowed in concern, his initial anger giving way to a burning curiosity; what the hell was Collins so worked up about? He never yelled so profanely – well, strike that, the man had the mouth of a sailor – but he never lost his temper unless something life-threatening was occurring. Stumbling over his own feet as he ran to catch the phone, Roger stomped angrily out of his bedroom, that permanent glare of his dominant over any other feature on his face.

"What the fuck, Mark?! Who the hell is on the phone at this time at night?" He growled angrily, his eyes drooping heavily from an extreme deprivation of sleep. It was obvious the boy wasn't taking very good care of himself, but Mark could only do so much to prevent him from – well, he didn't like to think about it.

"It's Collins," he stated simply, the look of concern still apparent on his face. "Collins, man, what the hell's going on?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly from nerves. Collins wouldn't call at this god-awful time in the morning if something hadn't gone incredibly wrong. Wracking his brain, Mark blurted out the first question he could coherently think of. "Is Angel okay?"

A choked sob answered him on the other line, proving that something had indeed happened to Angel. His concern turning to fear, Mark suddenly turned to Roger and stared at him blankly, feeling his heart galloping painfully in his chest – what was going on? "Collins…what…what happened? Is she…is…she…" He couldn't formulate the words – it was hard enough knowing that he'd be the last of his friends to survive; it was another thing entirely to have one of them go before their time, which had already been shortened by a life-threatening virus.

Through the unidentified noise that was emanating from the other line – a series of high-pitched beeps and murmured voices – Mark could make out a quiet, yet sorrowful answer. "No."

Relief quickly swept over him – if Angel had died, he didn't know what he'd have done. True, he wasn't incredibly close with the flamboyant drag queen, but she was like the light within their group. Without the sun, there is no being – no hope, no dreams, no future. There would be only darkness and pain, a lifestyle Mark was too familiar with – he'd witnessed it within Roger after April's death. It had been almost as if Roger was dead himself, yet he still managed to move – still managed to live.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the sudden, shrill noise on the other line of the phone. His concern bubbling up once more, he inquired shrilly, "Collins, just tell me what the fuck is going on!" His worry was quickly turning to impatience – he could hear the depression in Collins' tone, but he'd never know what to do if Collins wouldn't voice why he'd called in the first place. Obviously, something had happened.

"She…I…meet me at the hospital," he said simply.

Mark opened his mouth to reply, but he was welcomed with the sound of a dial tone. Scowling, he flung the phone back down onto the cradle and stalked off to his room to grab a jacket. No sense catching a cold from the frigid weather outside. When he'd emerged from his room, fully dressed, he noticed that Roger was still standing there, looking at him as if he expected a logical answer for being awoken from his precious beauty sleep.

"Something's happened. I think Angel's hurt." He didn't bother to look Roger in the eye – he could feel the sudden change in his best friend's mood as his weight shifted slightly, a sense of unease sweeping over the rocker.

"We've got to get to the hospital. That's all he said."

Seeming to be explanation enough for Roger, he nodded once and walked off to his bedroom to retrieve his own jacket. Mark's eyes never left the door – he was in a daze and he would surely drive himself mad before the night was out if he didn't get some answers soon.

Soon enough, both of the boys were ready and they briskly walked out the door into the freezing night air.


End file.
